Among "First Things First"

Among the "first things first" when arriving in the village is making the rounds to greet the village chief (dugutigi) and the elders. Usually this meeting occurred in the greeting hut, but this trip, because of heavy rains that had occurred in August, many of the mud huts had disintegrated and would not be rebuilt until the dry season came again.

Consequently, the greetings took place outdoors under a shade tree. By now, the dugutigi and his brothers (the elders) are familiar with us, and so the greeting time is less formal than it had been for the first few visits, and we have enjoyed many times of laughter with them.

During our time in K'Village, at the invitation of the chief and elders, we made daily visits to their courtyards when they would teach us many things about their culture, and in turn, they asked us to teach them not only about our culture, but more importantly, about our God and His Word.

Meet M'aa

Soon after arriving in K'Village, all newcomers are given a Malian name because, to the Bambara people, our English names are almost impossible to pronounce.

I was named M'aa Fumba, and later learned that a woman in the village had the same name. I didn't meet her in July when I was there, but in September, she was brought to our house so I could meet her.

Unlike me, she's quite shy. On the 4th or 5th attempt, we finally got her to look at the camera and smile.

Thru the Darkness

Looking at the muted reflection on the dark lens, the children of K'Village sitting on the benches under the canopy outside our house stir memories. As I gaze, I hear them. I see their smiles. I smile. I hear their giggles. I giggle in my heart. The children. Always present outside our house. Playing. Laughing. Waiting. They're not noisy nor in the way. But they're there. Waiting for us to play with them. Tease them. Hug them. They don't get many hugs, you know.
I can hear them singing. Ah, one of the most precious sounds I've heard. I remember the night I sat alone in the darkness of the African night -- praying, weeping, struggling. At the point the turmoil seemed overwhelming, I heard the children outside my window singing: "Alleluia, Alleluia." An angel choir. God's voice of reassurance comforting my heart. It is likely that I will never sing that song again without hearing the children . . . and weeping.

Meet the Team

Lori led the first team that went to K'Village in September 2006. The team was comprised of four amateur photographs, and thru their photos, we were introduced to the Bambara people. Lori is our pastor's wife and mother of three children. Lori and Mike served as missionaries in Zambia prior to responding to God's call to start Grace Point Church.

Lori was team leader as we once again visited K'Village. Prior to going to the village, our team was privileged to lead a women's retreat in Bamako for 85 missionary women. Lori taught from the book of Joshua, presenting strong challenges to all in attendance. Her passionate heart for God and missions is obvious and contagious.




Sara was with Lori on the first team to K'Village in September 2006. A gifted photographer, comedian, and extrovert, Sara led the July team when I first went to the village. This was her third visit to K' Village.

Sara was MC for the women's retreat, adding laughter and excitement as only Sara can. She has a deep love for people and unashamedly shares Jesus with almost everyone she meets. She is married and has one grown son.

Sara Lou is a clown, figuratively and literally. Her hobby is clowning and is known as "Twisty." Her real job is that of a hair dressr, and while in Bamako, Sara Lou shared her gift by giving upwards of 60 hair cuts to the missionary women at the women's retreat. Sara Lou is married with three grown sons, one of which is our pastor, Mike. She has numerous grandchildren, and while in the village, taught many of the children about Jesus.

Terrie also had the privilege of being on the first team that went to K'Village in 2006. One of Terrie's hobbies is serving as sound tech for Shekina, a vocal group of four ladies, who minister in churches here in NWA. She also served as sound tech at the women's retreat in Bamako, taught several workshops to the women, and in the village, Terrie showed her compassionate heart to the women of K'Village as well as to her teammates. Terrie is a serious prayer warrior. She is married, has two children, and is currently finishing her masters degree in counseling.

This is Denise. I promised her that this photo would come back and haunt her. That indeed it would be seen again! I have to keep my promise, right?

This was Denise's first trip to K'Village, and it was obvious that she has a heart for sharing Jesus with the women and children of the village.

Denise has three boys. She and her husband, Scott, will be leading a team back to K'Village in January 2008, taking their sons with them.






Kandace also was a first-timer to K'Village. She led the music at the women's retreat in Bamako, and fell deeply in love with the women and children of K'Village as well.

Kandace is married and has five children. She is a gifted musician, and sings with Shekina, the group of four ladies here in Northwest Arkansas who praise Jesus thru beautiful harmony.

Karen joined Sara Lou and me in unsuccessfully attempting to keep the "youngsters" on the team in line, as the three of us older women enjoyed the luxury of not having to draw water from the well! But we did do most of the cooking for the team . . . and loved it.

Karen has two grown children, one of which is Kandace. I treasure the many times I saw mother and daughter share together their love for each other, for the children and women of K'Village, and mostly, their incredible love for the Lord. Karen was the newlywed of the group. Both having lost their spouses some years ago, Karen and Jerry met at Grace Point Church and were married only a few months ago.

First Things First

One of the most important tasks upon arrival in the village is to draw water from the well to fill our two 50-gallon drums. It's a daily task, but never more critical than upon our arrival, since the water drums are empty.

These pictures show the well as it was in September, crowded with people, surrounded by green growth, so much so that the school in the background is hidden. The other picture is the well as it was in July, which clearly reveals the school in the background.

As we all pitched in to draw water as a team, we were soon informed by the villagers that the older women never draw water from the well, and therefore, Sara Lou and Karen and myself must never be allowed to draw water. It is the responsibility of the younger women to do so. I must admit I was not too upset to learn of this very cultural viewpoint.

Lori tried to prove to us that she's almost as African as the village women by carrying her bucket of water with no hands.

The truth is, the "no hands" portion lasted about as long as the split second it took to take the picture needed to prove that she hauled the full bucket of water with no hands. Look, Ma!!!

I Love Paris . . . I Think

In contrast to our trip to Bamako in July when we had a 15-hour layover in Casa Blanca, Morocco, on this trip in September we had a short seven-hour layover in Paris which certainly was not enough time to do it justice but enough to be able to say, "Yes, I've been to Paris." I have proof of having been there because my camera contains numerous photos. The irony of it is, I don't remember having seen Paris, so I must rely on the images contained on my camera's memory card rather than the memory card contained in my brain.

I can explain, really. You see, we left Northwest Arkansas on September 18. The days prior thereto were a whirlwind of activity, with nights of little sleep. After a layover in Dallas, we finally boarded the plane for our nearly 10-hour flight to Paris. After being served an unusually normal dinner of airplane food, we settled in for the night. Most of us took a nightcap of one form or another, be it Tylenol PM, Ambien, or some generic form thereof. I took my Ambien, and because of an impending migraine, I also took an Imitrex. Several hours later I was still awake but exhausted and restless, and beginning to feel trapped as one does when confined inside the coach class of an international flight that has few empty seats.

Lori, my friend, teammate, and leader of our team (who was not resting well either) asked if I had taken anything -- silly question -- and suggested I take another half an Ambien. Why not, I thought. What do I have to lose? And before long the zzzzzzzzzzzzzz's closed in on me and I slept. However, before not long enough, we were in Paris, debarking the plane, and running to find our chaeuffer for the prior-planned day tour of Paris.

Off we headed -- Eiffel Tower, streets of Paris, Notre Dame -- cameras snapping whether the tour van stopped or not. And all too soon we headed back to the airport with just enough time to catch our flight to Bamako, Mali. Now mind you, I was awake and alertly participating in all these activities in Paris. I bought a statue of the Eiffel Tower at the request of one of my co-workers for her daughter. I have pictures of the Eiffel Tower itself, the one tourist spot I do remember seeing. But beyond that, I do not remember Paris. I do not remember Charles de Gaulle Airport. I don't know where in Paris I bought the statue of the Eiffel Tower for my co-worker. I do not remember taking the pictures that appear on the memory card of my camera.

When we arrived in Bamako I was asked if I had enjoyed Paris. With a blank look on my face, I'm sure I muttered in sheer ignorance, "Um, Paris?"

The moral of the story is that you don't take one and a half Ambien and an Imitrex unless you have enough time to sleep them off or unless you plan to not remember what you did. That could get scary!!! But for now, the story provides a good laugh, especially when I proudly show off my pictures of Paris . . . and state that I don't have a glue when I took them. Ah yes, I DO love Paris!!!

On the Road or Off the Road -- Again?

Having left the highway (of sorts), we bounced along a dirt road in our Land Cruisers, knowing it would be a long trip back to K'Village from Bamako, the capital city of Mali, West Africa. Because of the rains, the road was deeply rutted, often with deep puddles of mud that threatened to engulf the wheels of our vehicles, thus trapping us in a muck of red clay. I was in the vehicle that led the entourage carrying ten women and their luggage (yikes) and provisions for five days of living in the bush. Assured that the drivers knew the way, we chatted and laughed and relaxed (to the extent anyone can relax in an over crowded vehicle with questionable air-conditioning, the hot African sun beating thru the windows, and roads that made Mr. Toad's Wild Ride look tame).

"Hey, Terrie, doesn't it seem like we should be to the turn-off for K'Village by now?" I asked. Terrie shrugged her shoulders. I raised my eyebrows, and together we began to wonder where we were. But the drivers assured us they knew the way. Occasionally we passed thru small villages. Children playing along the road waved. Women looked up from their cooking pots, and old men lounging in the shade to escape the hot sun watched our two heavily-laden vehicles loaded with obviously non-African women ramble by.

Nearly an hour later, the drivers stopped to ask a man cycling along the hot road. Speaking in Bambara, the men chatted as the cyclist pointed straight ahead, shaking his head in the affirmative, indicating (we thought) that we were on the road to K'Village. The drivers returned to the vehicles and we headed down the road once again. Terrie and I looked at each other and said, "Whatever!"

After another lengthy jaunt "just down the road," we came to an abrupt end in a small village that was clearly not K'Village. The drivers had no choice but to stop and ask where in all of Mali we were. Souhad, our Malian translator, joined in the conversation and the group clamored away in Bambara. It was obvious that Souhad, who had become our "mother hen," was upset and disgusted as she chided the drivers, with what turned out to be good reason. It was NOT good news. We had long passed the turn-off to K'Village.

Bouncing over the same road we had already bounced along, we once again went thru villages we had just driven thru and waved at the same children we had waved at before. Women looked up from their cooking once again, and we watched the same old men continue to lounge in the shade . . . only this time, they pointed and laughed as we went by them again.

When we arrived at K'Village many hours later than anticipated, I hardly recognized our compound, now surrounded by tall green growth, a stark contrast to the barrenness of July.

For the half of our team who had visited K'Village before, it was a joyful reunion with these gracious villagers. For Sara and me, it was even sweeter since it had been only two months since being in K'Village.

Travel with me on my journey back to K'Village. Let me introduce you to my friends from Grace Point Church. Come visit the village with me.

To Mali Tomorrow

In 12 hours I leave for Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport to meet my teammates (and 25,000 lbs of stuff -- not really, it just feels like it) for our next adventure to Bamako, Mali. After a whirlwind style tour of Paris on Wednesday, we arrive Thursday morning in Bamako, where we will hit the ground running.

My bags are packed, my head is still spinning, Gene's clothes are all clean, the house is a mess, the ironing's not done (but Gene knows where the iron is), and my heart is full of excitement, anticipation, expectation and a tad amount of fear.

Please pray for us as we go that "our teaching will drop as the rain, our speech distill as the dew, as raindrops on the tender herb, and as showers on the grass, for we proclaim the name of the Lord: Ascribe greatness to our God. He is the Rock. His work is perfect. For all His ways are justice, a God of truth and without injustice. Righteous and upright is He." (Deut. 32: 2-4)

I Wonder

I look into their eyes
and wonder
are you happy
are you sad?
Underneath your laughter
is there pain?
I look upon their faces
and long that I could speak their native tongue,
a barrier
that holds our hearts apart.

God looks upon
each one of us
and in His loving grace,
He banishes the walls
of culture and of race,
and sees inside their
longing hearts
and reaches into mine,
bringing us as one in Him,
the wonder of His grace.

The Journey Continues

July 4th was the beginning of my journey to Mali, West Africa . . . a life-changing, heart-changing trek. Since returning to the States, the journey has continued, taking me deeper into untraveled territory of my life.

On September 18th, my journey takes me back to Mali, to the loving people in K'Village.

It will be a different village than in July. The rains have come -- and come and come. The villagers are hard at work in their fields, to reap the greatest benefit from the rain. At the same time, however, some of the villagers' homes, being that they are mud huts, are "melting" from so much rain. It is not only hot and humid, but the mosquitos are "great in number," as are other critters.

We are praying that the roads leading to the village will be dry enough for us to even get there. In the village itself, mud will be difficult to contend with.

Grace Point Inn has been damaged too, but for the most part, it is in tack. One of the walls to the latrine has collapsed, but we figure a tarp will work well!

The villagers are tired from their hard, hard labor. We plan to get out in the fields and give the women some assistance, to the extent us pampered Americans can do so.

When told that we were returning, the women were very happy. When told we would try to help them in the fields, their faces really brightened up.

Pray for us. Four of us have been to K'Village. Four have not. But none of us has experienced the village as it is today. The fledgling church of 26 baptized believers needs encouragement and teaching. We need to find the right Bambara way to teach the villagers the need and the "how to" of sharing their faith with others in the village, especially their village chief and elders.

Our task is great . . . but we have a Great GOD!

Reflection

Reflection brings me back to You
and calls my heart to listen
to Your gentle voice
or sense Your tug upon my soul,
reminding me that
You are righteous,
King of Kings,
my Savior and my God.

Reflection brings me to my knees
and beckons me to worship,
to sing Your praises
and rejoice that in Your mercy
You have loved me with such unfailing love.
You are righteous,
King of Kings,
my Savior and my God.

Beaver Lake in Northwest Arkansas

Give Me A Heart

Under the hot afternoon sun, she walked with stately stance. A large sack balanced flawlessly on top of her head and her little one jostled peacefully on her back.

She seemed poised, confident, unconcerned. But was she walking aimlessly through life, not knowing that Jesus loves her? Or does she even know who He is? Does she know He brings peace? Will she ever find hope?

Oh my God, give me a heart
To always fear Your name
To hear Your gentle voice
To worship and bow down.

Oh that I would use
My voice to speak of Who You are
To tell the story of Your love
With passion for the lost.

Oh that I would live
A life reflecting You to all
A life the shows Your glory
Giving praise that You are God.

The Team

"Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us,
but to Your name give glory."

Psa. 115:1

September 18 - October 2, 2007

Kijabe and Back and Back to Mali

Their faces are frozen images in my mind. Their smiles make me smile. Their eyes beckon and plead with my heart as if to say, "Come to my village. Tell me about Jesus."

The other day I thought of the old song, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco," and taking poetic license, I changed it to "I Left My Out In The Village" -- at least part of my heart.

I've felt what was for me an unusually strong pull to go to Mali. Even before going with the July team, I wanted to go with the September team as well, but all the spots were taken. And although I kicked and screamed and hollered (not in reality, but inside I kinda did), I accepted the fact of not going. But I didn't stop asking God to make a place for me. I shared my passion to go back to Mali with a friend in California, who began praying that God would find a "Ginger shaped spot" on the team.

Almost no one knew how my heart longed to return to the village. I kept it to myself, knowing that God would answer His way. At night I'd often fall asleep seeing the faces of those beautiful women and delightful children, longing that the women would learn to teach their children that Jesus loves them . . . that the children would soon know Jesus too.

My cell phone rang as I pulled into the parking lot of Sara's office. "Hey, this is Lori. How bad to you want to go back to Mali?" It took a few seconds to process her words. I thought she was calling about some typing I had offered to do for her.

"Really bad," I babbled. "Why?" She went on to explain that a need had arisen for two more volunteers on the team and did I think I could break away to go back. "So, what are you really saying?" I asked. "Which team?"

"September. I know that's not very far off, but . . . . " I don't know what all she said after that. My heart was truly pounding and I wanted to cry but I was too elated to cry, and when Lori asked me how sure I thought it was that I could go, I said 99.9% and after consulting Gene, it would be 100%. . . and it was.

God also provided seats for both Sara and me, on the exact same flights as the other six team members who had already been ticketed for several weeks. And He continues to bring one confirmation after another that He is allowing me the privilege to "return to their village."

Things I Enjoy

Along the side of my grandmother's house on McNamee Street in Pagedale, Missouri, grew the prettiest little pink flowers. When I asked my mother what they were, she said, "I don't know. We've always called them 'Mommy Flower' because mom's always had them in her yard." (By the way, if you know what they really are, let me know.)

I forgot about the Mommy Flower until I visited a cousin years later. Walking in Karen's yard, she showed me her Mommy Flower, which was taken from a shoot off the original plants in our grandmother's yard. She gave me some starts to take home with me to California and for years, I enjoyed seeing the Mommy Flower bloom every spring. It brought special pleasure and memories to me, especially after my mother passed away.

When Gene and I moved to Northwest Arkansas two years ago, I brought the Mommy Flower with me, and in spite of neglect, hot sun and cold winters, my Mommy Flower blooms cheerfully in a large pot by our driveway in Bella Vista.

I enjoy our backyard and the relaxing, refreshing view from our screened porch. As I type this even now, a summer rain refreshes the thirsty plants and trees. The birds rejoice. The sound brings memories of playing in the rain as a child, of helping Mom grab clothes off the line as an unexpected shower closes in, of walking down the road, yes, gettin' soakin' wet.


I enjoy -- no, I thrill -- to see our American flag waving majestically in the breeze. I am proudly blessed to live in this country, and am embarrassed by those who detest her land and abuse her shores.

I thank God for our men and women who fight for our freedom, and trite as that may sound to some, I am proud of them.

I enjoy rain!

Thank You, Lord, for the rain --
its cleansing flow that cascades from the heavens
to refresh a dusty, thirsty world below.

Thank You, Lord, for the rain --
its gentle drops that quench the flowers and trees,
its sudden downpours that demonstrate Your power.

Even as You care for the lily of the field and giant redwood trees,
so you care for me,
quenching my thirsty heart
and refreshing my parched and lonely soul.

Water my garden, Lord. The seeds of joy turn dormant,
waiting for Your touch to waken life
and stir the blossoms of desire and delight.

Thank You, Lord, for the rain.

Gourment Dining

There's no fast food dining in the village, though we dined quite well, in spite of the fact that we didn't have running water or electricity.

Venturing into the heart of the village, we were invited into the courtyard of one of the families where the ladies very willingly showed us how to pound millet. The little boy in this picture could hardly wait to show me up as he prepared to pit his skill against mine . . . and don't ask who won!



These young ladies, however, were gracious to not overdo their amusement at my feeble attempt to accomplish what they do with such ease and grace.



Preparing dinner at Grace Point Inn wasn't as easy as popping something in the microwave, but with the willing hands of Kari Jo and Djenneba working together, and thanks to the cooking skills of Souhad, our Malian translator, we ate some very delicious, gourmet meals.


Souhad knew how to season food to the perfect taste, was expert at cooking over a charcoal fire, and spoiled all of us with her kind heart and bright smile.

We fell in love with her, and we became her friends as well. We've kept in touch thanks to email, and hopefully, she'll travel to Arkansas to see us one of these days

Ride of Your Life

There's no "easy cruzin" down the boulevard in the heart of Bamako.






And you've never experienced the "rush" of rush hour unless you've been here.








Would you believe that all five of us . . .

crammed into this little taxi (Sara's in there too, but I couldn't get everybody in the picture from the front seat) for the craziest ride of our lives?

"Mr. Toad" has nothin' on us!

A Church Is Born

September 2006 -- Out in "K" Village , five men believed in Jesus. A team of four ladies from Grace Point Church arrived with an interpreter for the purpose of presenting, through photographs, the need of the nearly 4 million Bambara people who have not heard about Jesus. In their brief stay, these ladies interacted with the villagers during the day, and in the evenings, began sharing stories about Jesus with the women who, when asked if they knew about Jesus, responded , "Who is He?"

God was at work in this little village. One night two of the village women said to our GPC team, "We want what you have." And they trusted Jesus, and in the next few days, six more women trusted Him.

March 2007 -- A second team arrived in the village for the purpose of building a mud hut for future teams to use and to disciple the believers in the village as to taking the next step of believers baptism. By now there were other villagers who had trusted Jesus, and during this team's visit, a few more villagers came to know Him. God continued His work among these people.

July 2007 -- GPC's third team, of which I was privileged to be a part, arrived in the village. Though our focus was on the 16-20 believing women in the village, each night we were also joined by a group of the men who listened as we presented stories from God's Word in hopes of encouraging these believers to share their faith openly with others.

God was truly at work. Before we left the village, we were privileged to joyously witness the birth of a new church -- 26 believers were baptized, declaring openly their faith in Jesus Christ.